5 Things That Never Happened to Sam Braddock
by Ace Bullets
Summary: These will be five things that never happened to Sam, for better or worse, like the title suggests. Enjoy. Rated 'T' for OC character death, just to be on the safe side; genres are a mixed bag.
1. Eclipse

**Five Things That Never Happened to Sam Braddock**

_**Eclipse**_

Evening shadows lengthened as the sun's slanted rays lessened in intensity, receding like low tide from the Afghani desert sands. It was a push and pull effect; ebb and flow. The sun rose every morning, pushing back the darkness, bringing with it mind-numbingly intense heat. The sun set every night, pulling the curtain of darkness back once again, bringing with it some respite from the heat, but not much.

Sam Braddock, member of an elite, 40-man counter-terrorism force, allowed himself to relax.

Today had been a good day. Today, no one had died from their ranks. Today, no enemy had maimed or injured any soldiers with an improvised explosive device, suicide attack, or other act of aggression.

The sounds around camp were muted. When dusk settled and twilight time slipped by, giving way to night proper, things fell into a routine of quiet watchfulness. Those who could sleep, did.

Tonight, Sam was among those not indulging in shut-eye. Instead, he observed the slow ascent of the Earth's only natural satellite. Out here in the desert where there was no light pollution from man-made sources to obscure the heavenly bodies, the stars and moon appeared so much more bold, crisp and clear. Back home, under usually hazy night skies, he was lucky if he could even pick out Orion's Belt, much less the Milky Way.

"You know, urban myth says more crazy stuff happens when there's a full moon."

Sam turned at the sound of the voice.

"Hey, Matt," Sam said casually. He returned his gaze to the bright disc that was hovering over the horizon, seemingly as large as a giant beach-ball, though Sam knew it was merely an optical illusion.

"Gonna be a total lunar eclipse tonight." Matt continued, and crouched down in the dust next to Sam.

"Really?" Sam asked his buddy. "I thought those were rare."

"Nah, just total solar ones. What, you never saw a total eclipse of the moon before?"

"Nope." Sam answered.

"Not even a partial one?" Matt asked.

"Nope."

"Wow. You poor, deprived Army brat," Matt said, shaking his head sorrowfully, though his tone indicated he was only half-serious.

"I guess I never had the time to sit back and star-gaze," Sam said, feeling a slight pull of indignation, like he had to offer some explanation for missing out on astronomical phenomena.

"It's pretty cool to watch," Matt said. "Like a cosmic ballet. It's crazy when you think about it. That an eclipse is even possible for us to observe – the way the Earth, our sun, and our moon's orbits have naturally lined up for it to be even possible – those are crazy, far-out odds. But yet, it happens."

Sam considered this. Somehow, he thought he remembered something about all that stuff in high school Physics, but the details escaped him.

The two friends sat there as the moon continued to climb in the sky, awaiting the start of the show.

"Oh, yah, there it goes!" Matt said, a grin spreading across his face.

"What?" Sam asked.

"See that?" Matt said, pointing. "See that spot there: it's beginning."

Sam squinted, and sure enough it did indeed look like a small section of the moon was slightly discoloured, like a greyish smudge from a charcoal pencil.

He watched in awe as the Earth's shadow raced across the visible surface of the moon, incrementally blocking out the light it reflected from the sun.

Sam just about held his breath when later, the entire moon was fully in the Earth's umbral shadow, giving it a deep, almost blood-red colour.

"Wow..." Sam whispered.

"Yeah." Matt said.

Then, a fingernail-like sliver appeared on one of the outer edges as the second phase of the eclipse marched on.

Sam was just as in awe watching the moon return to its usual brightness as he was while watching it 'disappear'.

"_There's nothing I can doooooooo, a total eclipse of the mooooooon!_"

Sam looked at Matt in puzzlement at his sudden, high-pitched outburst. His buddy was standing, arms outstretched, singing in an affected falsetto. "_A total eclipse of the moooooon!_"

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Sam said in a harsh, but hushed tone, hoping no one else in the camp had heard Matt, but knew they probably had.

"Bonnie Tyler song, Braddock!" Matt grinned, ignoring Sam's irritation.

"Yeah, I _know_ it's Bonnie Tyler, but it's 'Total Eclipse of the _Heart_', you moron," Sam said, "not 'Total Eclipse of the Moon'."

Matt pointed up at the moon. "That doesn't look like a _heart_ to me, Sammy. You're not very observant, are you?"

Sam groaned. Matt's favourite past-time was butchering song lyrics.

"Geez! And those are the eyes I trust to watch my back when we're out there, scoping out the Taliban?" Matt teased.

Sam shook his head. "My eyes are fine. _Your_ voice is cracked."

"Hey, my voice could win '_Canadian Idol_', baby!"

Sam laughed. "Fine, then. I _dare_ you to audition when we get back."

"Fine, I will!" Matt answered the challenge.

"Fine! Just don't flub the lyrics," Sam warned, "those judges'll kill you."


	2. Small Sacrifices

**A/N: Minor point, in case folks were wondering: in Canada, Thanksgiving is celebrated on the second Monday in October.**

**Five Things That Never Happened to Sam Braddock**

_**Small Sacrifices**_

Sam Braddock looked on fondly as Jules Callaghan drove off into the cool, October night. He stepped back inside the lobby of his apartment and made the climb back up the stairs to his suite, smiling to himself.

He opened his door and went in, meeting the gaze of his mother.

"So?" Sam said, in a questioning voice.

"So?" she repeated.

"What do you think of Jules?"

Sam had invited 'the General' – the Braddock patriarch, and his mother, to his place for the Thanksgiving long weekend. In spite of the tension between Sam and his father, he hadn't wanted their problems to interfere with the relationship he had with his mother. The visit was ostensibly to be together as a family for the holiday, and his parents had made the trip out from CFB Petawawa. But Sam's reason for inviting them was two-fold: he wanted them to meet his girlfriend.

Sam looked hopefully at his mother, awaiting her answer.

"She's lovely, Sam," she finally answered, with an indulgent smile.

Sam grinned with pleasure. "She is, isn't she?"

The General turned from his spot on the couch, where he was watching the dying minutes of the Argonauts-Blue Bombers game. With a grunt he said: "Shouldn't be fraternizin' with a team member."

Sam's face immediately fell. He hadn't been asking for _his_ approval, yet.

"Oh, don't listen to him," Mrs. Braddock said, waving off her husband's unsolicited comment with a dismissive tone.

"He _ought_ to listen," General Braddock said huffily. "Does nobody any good if you have your attention divided. It's how you get your team members killed."

Sam swallowed an angry rebuttal.

"There's a _reason_ why those rules exist, Sam. And what if this thing doesn't last? Then what? You got two people pissed at each other working on the same team? Not a good strategy, soldier."

"Will you leave him alone?" Mrs. Braddock cut in, appalled at the sour turn the conversation had taken.

"You've been coddling the boy for too long," the General muttered. "Let him stand on his own two feet and respond to me if he wants to. Get your head where it needs to be, Sam."

"As it _happens_," Sam started testily, "Jules and I have talked about this. We want to make it work, and the only way for it to work is if we're on different teams. Ever since Jules was shot, we've both done a lot of soul-searching. Jules has fought really hard to make it back, and she fought really hard just to earn a spot on Team One in the first place. It's not fair to expect her to move..."

"So, what are you going to do?" Mrs. Braddock asked.

"I've put in for a transfer. Team Three has a spot open. I figure it has my name written all over it. We both agree it's not right to jeopardize the safety of the team, and neither of us wants to jeopardize our relationship."

"That's really wonderful of you, Sam," his mother commended.

"I guess it is," Sam said with a self-effacing shrug. "It's a sacrifice, sure, but it's worth it."

"You see, General?" Mrs. Braddock called out to her husband. "Sam's head _and _heart are in the right place."

General Braddock harrumphed, and made no further comment. Mrs. Braddock winked at her son.

"Mom..." Sam said softly, "she _is_ great, right?"

"She's a doll, Sam," Mrs. Braddock answered affectionately, moving forward to clasp her son's face in her hands. "and I'm proud of you."

* * *

**A/N: I'm guessing there's a great many of you out there who _wish_ this _did_ happen to Sam. Too bad it didn't. **


	3. Look Both Ways

**A/N: Inspired by what was revealed about Sam's tragic past in episode 'Acceptable Risk', though this doesn't really spoil that story. Enjoy.**

**Five Things That Never Happened to Sam Braddock**

_**Look Both Ways**_

Nine-year-old Samuel Braddock held his younger sister's hand tightly as they ambled down the sidewalk, occasionally avoiding the shallow puddles they encountered.

Unlike most self-conscious boys his age, Sam didn't mind being seen with a girl, and took very seriously his responsibility of looking after his sibling. The boy had been drilled about his role as 'big brother' from as early as he could remember, and was quite comfortable with it; proud, even, to be entrusted with the safety of Sara.

Sara was younger than Sam by three years, and there had never been a hint of 'sibling rivalry', much to the relief of their mother, a meek housewife, and their father, a gruff career military man.

As they walked, their ten-year-old male cousin, Frank, pedalled his 10-speed bicycle in lazy, meandering swerves and twists, sometimes striking out ahead of them, sometimes lagging behind them, usually to slice through the puddles Sam avoided, splashing arcs of filthy rainwater in his wake.

The Braddocks were spending a rare vacation off-base with family in Winnipeg, Manitoba. Pouring rain had kept the children indoors for several interminable days, so when the sun dawned that morning, finally revealing clear skies, a trip to the neighbourhood playground was definitely in order.

"Remember to look both ways before crossing the street, Samuel," Mrs. Braddock had cautioned her son before the children left the house.

"The park is only three blocks away, Aunt Vicki," Frank piped up before Sam could reply. "There's only one street we have to cross, and it's never busy."

Mrs. Braddock sent her nephew a reproachful look. "Thank you, Francis," she said, just one shade away from outright sarcasm, "but just the same, I want all three of you to be careful. "

"Your Aunt Vicki is right, Francis," Frank's mother had commented, "I know you know the neighbourhood, but your cousins don't."

"Sure, mom," Frank replied, but rolled his eyes.

"…And hold your sister's hand when you're crossing that street, okay, Sam?" Mrs. Braddock added, making eye contact with her son.

"Yes, mom," Sam had affirmed solemnly, "I promise I'll hold Sara's hand and look both ways before we cross."

"I'll look both ways too, mom," Sara echoed, earning an indulgent smile from her mother.

Mrs. Braddock had kissed both her children and given Frank a pat on the shoulder, then shooed them out the door. The bright sunshine beckoned the children, and they dashed outside with great enthusiasm.

"'_I promise I'll look both ways'_," Frank mocked Sam's words as they neared the aforementioned intersection.

Sam, recognizing the insulting tone, screwed up his face in an expression of displeasure.

Frank circled back and rode his bike around Sam and Sara, egging on his younger cousin. "You always answer your mom and dad like that?"

"Like what?" Sam asked, coming to a halt as Frank continued to pedal, boxing them in so they were unable to easily advance or retreat.

"'_Yes, mom'_; or '_yes, sir'_ to your dad," Frank's face grew serious as he affected a stiff impersonation of Sam's polite and common response to his parents, "stuff like that."

"Yeah, I do," Sam answered honestly. "What's wrong with that?"

Frank chuckled. "Nothin'. You just sound like a _robot: _a trained robot that spits out answers but can't think for itself."

"Sam _can too_ think for himself," Sara countered indignantly in Sam's defense, rising to Frank's bait.

"Says the robo-sister, herself!" Frank laughed, bringing his bike to a halt in front of the siblings.

"Knock it off," Sam growled, growing impatient at his cousin's petty insults.

"Make me," Frank shot back, glaring at Sam.

Sam felt his annoyance escalating, and gripped Sara's hand a little more securely. His left fist curled into a tight ball at his side. Frank was a year older, and a head taller, but Sam was already a karate yellow belt, and quite capable of defending himself against the schoolyard-type physical bullying Frank was liable to dish out.

"Sammy," Sara whispered plaintively, looking up at her brother, "let's just go to the park, okay?"

"What's the matter, robo-sister," taunted Frank, "you don't want to see your brother get creamed?"

"C'mon, Frank, forget it," Sam said in a conciliatory tone, "let's just go to the park, okay?" He could feel himself calming down, ever-so-slightly, though his fist was still balled tightly.

"Suit yourself," Frank retorted with a shrug, "but I sure won't forget the way you talk to your mom and dad…" He snickered, turned and started pedalling towards the intersection again.

Sara felt Sam's grip on her hand relax, and she relaxed as well. The pair resumed their stroll, following behind their cousin, both relieved that the potential fight had been averted.

"'_Yes, mommy_,'" Frank raised his voice a few pitches, in another mocking imitation of Sam, "_'I promise I'll look both ways, mommy_,'"

Sam narrowed his eyes and frowned, but refused to give Frank the satisfaction of either a verbal or physical come-back.

Frank, looking for a reaction from either Sam or Sara, peered back over his shoulder, grinning wickedly in the hopes that his barbs had found their mark.

At first, Sam didn't quite comprehend what happened a moment later. He would remember the next few seconds in fragments and impressions of sights, sounds and smells.

Frank was on his bicycle, teeth flashing behind curled lips, eyes dancing spitefully. An engine roared and glass shattered, tires squealed and a body flew up into the air; there was the acrid odour of burning rubber and exhaust fumes; a bent bicycle frame.

Frank, lying in a crumpled heap in the middle of the still-wet street…

Frank's eyes open and unblinking, his neck bent at an awkward angle…

Sara, clinging rigidly to Sam…

Sirens blaring a shrill, urgent song.

People jostling for a view of the calamity and uniformed emergency response teams.

Questions asked in calm, gentle, respectful and comforting tones.

Answers given in the same polite, respectful tone.

"He was looking at us, officer… He didn't see the car. He didn't look where he was going. He didn't look both ways… Why didn't he look both ways, officer? Why didn't he look both ways?"

**END**


	4. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

**A/N: Here's the dialogue-only entry for Sam's '5 Things' series (just like I've done with every other character). Sam claimed he didn't suffer from PTSD; this is an exploration of what might be going through his head if he were.**

**5 Things That Never Happened to Sam Braddock**

_**Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder**_

"Can't sleep."

_If I do fall asleep, it's fitful, and I toss and turn all night._

"Can't drive down the street without thinking that piece of trash is a road-side bomb."

_Nearly crashed the bike yesterday afternoon when I swerved to avoid a crumpled paper bag._

"Can't go to that party_."_

_Everyone stares and whispers about the nut-case ex-soldier._

"Can't forget. Can't forget. Can't forget!"

_Matt? Matt! But… I was cleared to shoot. It was supposed to be clear. It was supposed to be clear._

"Can't get those images out of my head."

_Bodies, bodies everywhere. _

"Can't stop the voices that accuse."

_Matt, I'm sorry. I didn't mean… Why can't you leave me in peace?_

"Can't quiet the voices of the innocent crying out in pain."

_Women and children wailing in mourning for the dead… the sheer misery and futility of it all._

"Can't stop shaking."

_It's not cold in here. Why the tremors that rack my body? _

"Can't stop the nightmares."

_I'm desperate for sleep. Just _one _night of uninterrupted sleep! Is that too much to ask for?_

"Can't watch the news."

_Every night the cameras roll on the most recent insurgency._

"Can't read the papers."

_Every day the words describe in detail the horrors I thought I left behind._

"Can't get numb enough."

_A whole six-pack for breakfast just isn't doing it anymore, is it?_

"_Can't hold down a job."_

_No one wants to employ an ex-soldier with 'issues'._

"Can't maintain relationships."

_No one wants to be with an unpredictable, irritable, ex-soldier with 'issues'._

"Can't get high enough."

_Self-medicating just isn't the escape it used to be. _

"Can't go on like this."

_They don't memorialize the cowards who take that route…_

"Can't remember what we were fighting for in the first place."

_Can't remember who I am anymore._

**END**_  
_


	5. And Study War No More

**A/N: Here it is, the final installment of Sam's 'Five Things' series. I guess I can't get away from the military motif with him as you'll soon see. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.  
**

* * *

**Five Things That Never Happened to Sam Braddock**

_…**And Study War No More**_

* * *

Captain Samuel Braddock settled into the predictably uncomfortable, cramped seating aboard the Boeing CC-177 Globemaster III. There were five seats to a row, plus several side-facing berths on this massive military transport aircraft. Sam was second from the left in his own row, squeezed between a Corporal named Dennis Molineaux on his right and a Second Lieutenant named Brent Henry in the aisle seat.

Sam leaned his head back and closed his eyes, his thoughts turning to what he would do with his life once he was back home in Canada. His current commitment to the military was over, and he had decided not to renew his contract, coincidentally dovetailing with the military's pullout from Afghanistan.

While he was leaving the _Panjwaii_ district in Kandahar province forever, Sam knew he'd never forget it. He'd spent three years in this arid region, bordered by craggy mountains and steeped in the constant threat of danger. He'd lost friends and made friends there, all the while trying to win the hearts and the trust of the Afghan people in an effort to bring stability to the volatile area.

They'd done their best to try to push back the Taliban before handing over the reins to the Americans, and Sam was cautiously optimistic they were leaving it a better place than it had been in a long time. Approximately 950 troops would be remaining in Kabul for another couple years to assist in the training of the local Afghan army in an effort to bring them to a higher level of self-sufficiency. Sam knew that was an important mission in and of itself, but was glad it didn't have to involve him.

As the aircraft lifted off the runway and into clear skies ultimately bound for Ottawa, Sam allowed himself to relax. They were going _home_. From the country's capital, he'd soon be boarding a plane for Toronto to be reuinted with his parents and sister, Natalie.

He thought fleetingly of the girlfriend he'd been seeing prior to his deployment. Kate hadn't been willing to wait the length of his tour, but they hadn't been all that serious to begin with, so their parting had been amicable. Natalie had written two months ago to say that Kate had married some lawyer earlier that Spring.

Brent Henry, the Second Lieutenant to Sam's left, was apparently in a chatty mood. "What are your plans once we're back home, Braddock?" he asked, his voice in competition with the drone of the aircraft's four powerful engines.

"I'm probably gonna take the longest bath I've ever had in my life and then sleep for a month," Sam replied with a laugh. "But seriously… when I get back, I'm going to teach high school Social Studies."

"Good for you, man," Henry commented, showing himself to be suitably impressed with Sam's new career choice. "Teenagers these days would probably listen to a guy like you – you know, with your military experience."

"Yeah, I guess," Sam stated. "I guess I'm really big on that whole 'those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it' thing, you know?"

"Sure," Henry said with a nod.

"I mean, what we were trying to do in Afghanistan… all the guys we lost… the loss of civilian life… and for what?" Sam asked hypothetically. "I think we'd all like to live in a world where we could all just lay down our arms and study war no more."

Henry just looked at Sam for a few beats. "Don't be getting all philosophical on me, Braddock," he chortled.

"You know what I mean," Sam continued. "I joined up because some people are helpless and need protecting, but I'm relieved to be finished with my tour. I've done my part. Now, I guess all I want is to find a nice girl, settle down; do something different for a change, something that doesn't involve being on the alert for an IED or a Taliban ambush."

"I read you on _that_," Henry said fervently.

"What about you?" Sam questioned the Second Lieutenant. "What will you be doing when you get back home? Edmonton, right?"

"Yeah, Edmonton… well, Sherwood Park, really…" the other man said. "I've got a job hopefully lined up for me in Fort Mac with a buddy of mine from high school."

"The oil rigs, eh?"

"Yup. A few weeks on, few weeks off," Henry went on, "there's some pretty good money to be made."

"Well, good luck on that, man," Sam said to his seatmate.

"Thanks. You, too, Braddock."

* * *

Sam Braddock stood at the front of the darkened theatre-styled 'classroom' filled with grade 12 students. He waited patiently for them to quiet themselves so he could begin the day's lesson. A couple stragglers meekly trickled in, doing their best to remain inconspicuous.

"You're late, Tim; Riley," Sam called out to the offending students. "You know what that means! Ten push-ups, on the double!"

Some of the other kids craned their necks to get a look at the tardy pair and giggle.

"Aw, man!" Tim groaned. "This isn't gym class, Mr. Braddock!"

"You're right, Mr. Shaw," Sam said, "this isn't Gym, but it _is_ Mr. Braddock's 'Canadian and World Studies Boot Camp', and I don't tolerate lateness. There are always consequences for your actions, men. Besides, if you get a little adrenaline pumping, maybe I'll be able to engage your brain cells, too. Go!"

Tim and Riley grudgingly shrugged off their backpacks and commenced with the requisite number of push-ups.

At the end of the exercise, Sam nodded in satisfaction, and the two students retrieved their packs and found empty seats.

"Okay, recruits," Sam said, using his own military-flavoured term of endearment for the class, "today we begin a new mission, namely 'Canada: History, Identity and Culture'."

"Yay!" one student called out with mock enthusiasm from somewhere in the back.

"Riveting stuff, I know," Sam replied with a dry tone, "but this course is basically all about how our country came to be the way it is now. The more you know about the place you live, the better you'll be able to understand the role this country will play on the world scene in the future – a future you will help lead.

"Now, to start with a little more recent history, who can tell me what N.A.T.O. stands for?"

Before Sam could call on a student to answer, the back door burst open noisily, and a lone figure stormed inside.

Sam couldn't see the figure's face, but didn't like having a lesson interrupted. "Late!" he called out. "That's ten push-ups, recruit!"

The figure ignored Sam and continued to troop down the aisle towards him. In the dim lights of the theatre, Sam struggled to make out the person's features, but much of its head and face was shrouded by the black hood of the wearer's jacket.

A feeling of unease crept up Sam's spine. Something was not right about this situation, and all of his well-honed, battle-tested instincts issued an urgent warning: Danger!

Sam took in the interloper's body language as he neared. Shoulders were hunched and hands were shoved deep inside the pockets of the hoodie. The rest of the students watched in horror as the black-clad figure pulled a handgun from one of those pockets and aimed it at their teacher.

"Nobody move, or I'll shoot Mr. Braddock!"

Several gasps went up from the students, but no one yet dared to move.

Internally, Sam was fuming. School policy banned the use of cell phones in class, so students were obliged to leave them inside their lockers during school hours. No one would be sneaking a call to the police.

Sam didn't like being in the dark in regards to the identity of this threat, but the voice was familiar, so clearly he knew the person, and the person clearly knew him.

"Okay," Sam said loudly as he raised his arms to respond to the threat, "nobody's going anywhere… what is it you want?"

"I want to show everyone what a freakin' liar and coward you are!" came the furious reply.

_Yes, I definitely know that voice,_ Sam thought. It was a voice that carried a note of churlish defiance, and one he had definitely heard before.

"Why do you think I'm a liar?" Sam asked, trying to sound calm and non-threatening.

"Because you _are_!" insisted the young man, "and I want you to beg for your life in front of everyone… no, first I want you to _drop_ and give me ten – no, _one hundred_ push-ups! Yeah, that's what I want!"

Unsure of whether or not the young man was serious, Sam hesitated.

"Do it!" raged the gunman, and jerkily fired off a shot into the ceiling.

Panic immediately ensued as students screamed and scrambled for the exits. Feet pounded and trampled up the aisles, coupled with much pushing and shoving and cries of fear ringing out.

It proved enough of a distraction for Sam to take action. He leapt from the dais and tackled the confused gunman, easily subduing him and wresting the gun from his grasp.

"Stay down!" he commanded, feeling a surge of adrenaline as he kept his knee planted firmly in the small of the back of the interloper and holding him in an arm lock.

"Owww!" his captive complained, turning his face to the side so it was no longer pressed into the low-pile carpeting, "that hurts! Ow!"

Sam pulled back the hood from the face of his would-be-shooter and took in his profile. He finally identified him as a student he'd had the previous semester.

"Dennis Varley! What the hell did you think you were doing?" he barked in surprise.

"Screw you, Mr. Braddock!" Dennis spat insolently. "Thinking you're such a big man 'cause you claim you're ex-military…"

"I _am_ ex-military, Dennis," Sam said angrily, still trying to wrap his mind around the young man's possible motive for coming in here and threatening him with a gun.

"Yeah? Then why'd you quit?" Dennis challenged. "Scared of real action? Didn't have the stones for combat? Coward!"

"That's not it," answered Sam, feeling prideful indignation swelling up deep inside him. "My tour was up. We were pulling out of Afghanistan. Our combat mission there was finished."

"You're such a freakin' liar!" Dennis shouted back. "My old man was over there fighting! Fighting al-Qaida. He'd still be fighting if he wasn't killed! He wasn't afraid like you are. When they clear up all the red tape, they're gonna call him a hero. You… you just came back and became a stupid teacher!"

Sam sighed heavily. He should have made the connection sooner, back when Dennis started consistently showing up late for his class last semester, then finally not at all.

"Is that what your mother told you?" Sam asked quietly.

"Yeah…" Dennis muttered. "That's what she told me. It's what my dad's C.O. told her. What do you care? You're not even a real soldier anymore."

"Dennis, I'm going to let you up," Sam said, "_if _you promise not to try anything. Remember, I have the gun…"

"Fine…" Dennis grumbled.

Very slowly, Sam removed his knee from the young man's back and released his grip on his wrist. Dennis scrambled away from his former teacher and leaned against one of the front-row seats.

"Your father was Major Irvine Varley, wasn't he?" Sam asked.

Dennis nodded. "He died. He died in combat three months ago."

_No, he didn't_, Sam thought sadly.

"He stayed back there and got killed fulfilling his duty while cowards like _you_ came home!" Dennis cried.

"That's not how it happened, Dennis, and I think you know that," Sam countered.

"Yes, it is!" the young man yelled.

Sam shook his head as he contemplated what to say next. _Dennis,_ _I wish I could find some way to tell you that your dad died of a non-combat-related, self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head while assigned to the mission of training Army personnel in Kabul. I wish I could tell you that war is hell. I wish I could explain that the psychological wounds of battle can tear a man apart, long after he's left the battlefield..._

"Dennis Varley!"

Sam and Dennis started at the sound of a new voice. They hadn't noticed the doors being opened, or the four black-clad figures armed with H&K MP5s who'd stealthily crept into the theatre, taking up tactical positions.

The new voice belonged to a fifth man who stood at the back of the theatre, slightly hidden behind a riot shield being held by a sixth man.

"Dennis Varley, my name is Sergeant Greg Parker, and I'm here to make sure both you and Mr. Braddock get to walk out of here safely. Do you think we can talk about making that happen?"

_Strategic Response Unit_, Sam thought in relief.

Dennis' eyes went wild. "The _cops?" _he hissed._ "_Don't let them shoot me, Mr. Braddock! Don't!"

"It's going to be okay, Dennis," Sam reassured him. "We'll stand up together. I've got the gun now, remember? I'll explain. Everything's over, right? It's over."

The shock of seeing the armed members of the Strategic Response Unit must have spooked the teen; brought him crashing back to reality. He looked as if he was seriously considering what had just happened between him and his former teacher.

"I was just so mad, Mr. B… At you and at everything…" the young man sniffed as tears collected in the corners of his eyes. "My dad… I just miss him so bad! I'm sorry…"

"Dennis Varley!" Sergeant Parker shouted again. "I need you to give me some sign that your hostage is unhurt!"

Sam put a hand on Dennis' shoulder. "I get it, Dennis," he said gently. "You wanted to lash out because you didn't know how to handle your feelings. I totally get it. Soldiers go through it all the time. Some are able to deal with it better than others. I'm sorry no one was able to be there to help your dad, Dennis… But we'd better get up right now before those officers think you've done something you shouldn't have…"

Dennis nodded, and both he and Sam stood slowly; Sam holding up the weapon in a non-threatening manner to show he was in possession.

"We're okay, Sergeant!" Sam called out. "I'm going to lay down the weapon, so don't panic… we're okay here."

"Yeah," Dennis echoed, "we're okay."

* * *

**END**


End file.
